


my voice rings out for you

by cherryconke



Series: how long would i wander by your side [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sylvain, Childhood Friends, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair Braiding, Hair-pulling, Idiots in Love, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Time Skip, Praise Kink, Rimming, Tenderness, Top Felix, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 05:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21131405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryconke/pseuds/cherryconke
Summary: “Mine.” Felix whispers reverently across his shoulder blades, fingers bruising hard into the meat of his ass.He nods, helpless and wanting beneath him. “Yours.”





	my voice rings out for you

**Author's Note:**

> this is an epilogue (of sorts) to "how long would i wander by your side," but can be read on its own if you're just looking for some smut ;)

**Imperial Year 1185**

The war is over. They’ve won. 

Sylvain doesn’t watch as Dimitri flings his lance, deadly accurate, into Edelgard’s chest. His ears barely register the triumphant cry erupting from Byleth’s lips as he cuts through Hubert. He misses Ingrid shooting down the last archer with deadly accuracy; the way Dedue guards Dimitri’s flank against a sneaky slip of a lance. He barely pays attention to the fall of the Empire. No, his eyes are busy glued to someone else.

Felix.

The brilliant, winning, incredibly rare smile on his face as he claps Dimitri heartily on the back, momentarily forgetting their longstanding feud. The pretty blush that colors Annette’s cheek as he smacks an unexpected kiss to her forehead, caught up in the blurry joy of the moment. He looks… radiant, free – even though he’s still spattered in blood and viscera, dirt smudged above his brow, his bun loose and messy.

And then Felix turns to him. Sylvain swears his heart stutters in his chest.

The taste of victory is so, _ so _ goddamn sweet as Felix’s lips meet his own: teeth nipping, spit slick, bruising. His hands, smeared with the blood of dozens of soldiers and mud and sweat and grease, come up to grip the sides of Sylvain’s face. Butterflies race through him at the easy, slow spread of Felix’s smile against his own. He knows they’re celebrating both of them being alive just as much – if not more – than their triumph over the Empire.

Revelry carries them deep into the night. There’s a palpable sense of relief in the air: relief to have made it out alive; relief that the battles have _ finally _come to an end. Wine flows freely and countless toasts and cheers are made throughout the night to their new king.

His head feels fuzzy as he pushes himself away from the long table filled with food, turning to stand and leave.

“Where’re you going, Sylvain?” Ashe’s voice is bright and ringing from where he leans, lazy and drunk against Dedue’s broad shoulder. He flashes the couple a genuine smile, pausing before he answers to slip an unopened bottle of wine into his coat.

“Gonna find Felix. I haven’t seen him since Dimitri’s speech.”

Ashe winks at him, flirty and clumsy. Despite Sylvain’s reputation for being the biggest skirt chaser while they were in school, he feels a slight blush spread over his cheeks. Almost everyone had seen their kiss earlier on the battlefield – it’s not like they’d taken great pains to hide it. The majority of their friends had approached him at some point in the night or another, full of everything from _ congratulations _ to _ I-knew-it_s. 

He only stumbles over his feet a tiny bit as he takes his leave, rounding a corner towards the nearest exit. He’s not typically one to seek alone time – he prefers, usually, to be the spotlight of attention – but the wine and exhaustion have made him feel somber and sentimental in his tipsiness. 

How close they’d come to losing, to _ dying_, wasn’t lost on him. It could’ve easily been Dimitri getting cut down on the field; could’ve been Felix or himself dying to a well-aimed arrow. Although they’d come out victorious, they’d lost quite a few soldiers of their own, some of them his men he’d brought all the way from home. The trauma of being on the other side as their old classmates, the ones who made the fatal mistake of following Edelgard, stung hard when he thought about their faces, their names. Dorothea. Ferdinand. Bernadetta.

He wanders the castle of Enbarr as he mulls over his thoughts, hoping against hope to stumble upon Felix. If this were the monastery, he’d have made a straight beeline for the training grounds. If it were Felix’s home in Fraldarius, his feet would’ve taken him on a large loop around the estate, hitting all of Felix’s spots: the sitting room with the huge hearth Felix liked to clean his weapons in front of at night, the giant oak they used to play in as kids. But in a foreign castle in a foreign land he can’t do much other than let his feet beat a path through corridors and empty gardens, across bridges and balconies.

The air is warm here, even at night. The lights below him in the city of Enbarr twinkle and shine up at him. It’s beautiful when it’s dark, when you can’t see all the blood and gore, the scars and past traumas both sides had inflicted on the city. He misses the chilly winters of Faergus and the brisk hit of wind numbing his cheeks.

It isn’t until he passes through an ornate archway into what must be the third rose garden he’s come across that he finds him, leaning over a low stone balcony to stare over the half-ruined city. Sylvain can’t help the stupid little half-smile that graces his lips, heart filling up with affection at his silhouette. 

His somber, sweet, sharp-tongued lover. His best and oldest friend. Felix had opened up to him and let him in – in ways that Sylvain would’ve never in a thousand years dreamed of. He let him ravish him, completely and absolutely, until they’re both so tangled up it’s difficult to tell where one of them begins and the other ends. Felix, unexpectedly tender on a bloody battlefield, pecking a kiss to his forehead when nobody’s looking. Felix, exchanging hopeful words, whispers in the night, as they grasp blindly at their tentative future, holding onto their dreams like buoys when they could wake up tomorrow morning and die by nightfall.

He lets his footsteps clatter against the stones as he approaches – as a warning – he’d nearly been stabbed through the gut at least four times over the years, thinking it’d be a _ hilarious _ joke to sneak up on him.

Felix turns as he approaches, bracing his hands against the stone ledge. There’s a soft smile on his lips as Sylvain moves closer, looming over him, settling his hands comfortably in the curve of his hips, caging him in.

How beautiful and wonderous it is that he can finally do what he’s wanted his whole life: shower affection and love on Felix without restraint. All the impulses he’d had in school – leaning over to brush his hair from his eyes, smudging dirt off his nose in training – are finally, _ finally _ valid.

Felix tilts his head up to meet his gaze, an inquisitive expression replacing his smile. The sound of the ongoing celebration is muted to a faint roar from where they stand on the edge of the city.

“Hi there,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into Felix’s forehead. He smells earthy, like sweat and soil and leather. He inhales deeply, pressing a kiss to his brow, tasting the salt on his skin, doing his best to ignore the much-needed bath they probably should’ve already taken.

“Mm.” Felix hums against him, bringing his hands up to run around his hips, rubbing his back, sliding up his chest. He pauses, fingers searching beneath the buttons of his coat as he pulls out the bottle Sylvain pocketed from the feast.

“I thought we could celebrate,” he offers by way of explanation, shrugging his shoulders as he breathes against Felix’s hair. He reaches up to comb a few loose strands escaped from his bun away from his eyes.

Felix uncorks the bottle easily, leaning back against the stone ledge as he sips. Sylvain watches him, the quiet, solemn expression on his face as he drinks the wine, passing the bottle to him. They drink back and forth, occasionally making eye contact, enjoying the silence together. When he next has the bottle, he sets it down carefully on the ledge, moving to refocus his hands on Felix: running up his spine, pressing him close against him.

Felix exhales shakily against his throat in response. “We lived, Syl. We lived–”

Sylvain curls his hand around his jaw, firm and bruising, grounding him back in reality. Felix tilts his head up and shifts against him on tiptoe. He brings his mouth down to meet Felix’s in a sloppy kiss.

“I know. I know,” he soothes against Felix’s lips. Felix doesn’t respond, simply slinging his arms around his neck to press their chests closer. Sylvain would, without a doubt, cut down hundreds or thousands for the opportunity to see the small, shy smile on his face every day.

Joy suddenly fills him to the brim, spilling over in a slew of sloppy kisses he peppers wherever he can reach – the edge of his brow, the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose. Felix crinkles his face up as he plants a badly-aimed open-mouthed kiss to the sharp angle of his chin, turning away from him.

“Sylvaaain,” he complains, a dumb happy grin on his face when Sylvain doesn’t let up. He laughs back, rubbing circles into Felix’s hip bones, leaning down to capture his mouth once again. Soon Felix is nipping on his lower lip between kisses and they’re both panting into each other’s mouths.

“Sylv_aaaain _.”

This time Felix draws out his mouth in a breathy half-moan, teasing and _ so _ damn hot, sending a jolt of electricity straight down his spine. The fiendishly wicked smile Felix flashes up at him tells Sylvain that he knows _ exactly _ what he’s doing. The sight of it is nearly enough to wipe him from the planet right here and now. A deep, unbidden moan falls from his lips, and this time when he pulls Felix back towards him he teases a finger playfully around the waistband of his pants.

They’re both panting now, furiously out of breath against each other when Sylvain finally pulls away. He silently revels in the red flush spreading across Felix’s cheeks and down his ears.

“How about a bath, sweet?” He nips Felix’s earlobe, running his hands over wherever he can reach – cupping over his ass, gripping into his hips, teasing lightly over the growing bulge in his pants.

“Yeah,” Felix mumbles breathlessly, tipping his gaze from where he’s looking down at Sylvain’s hands rubbing over his cock to look into his eyes. Felix’s own are dazedly unfocused. “Yeah, bath.”

Their quest to find the bathhouse is distracted and clumsy – Sylvain letting out a breathless laugh as they meet a dead end yet _ again _and Felix pins him up against a tapestry in response, growing grabby and demanding with every wrong turn. Eventually they find it, high up in the castle, Sylvain staggering and laughing around an open-mouthed kiss as he finally pushes Felix towards one of the larger sunken pools.

The task of stripping down grows heated with Felix’s hands roaming all over him, undoing buckles and laces and buttons with deft fingers until he’s down to nothing. He repeats the process for Felix, slower and steadier than the younger’s scrabbling hands, pressing rhythmic kisses wherever he can reach: his jaw, his collarbone, the knobs of his spine.

He steps into the pool, pulling Felix with him. The steam emanating from the water blurs his vision, everything hazy and warm and swimmy. He sinks down to a ledge and Felix follows closely, swinging his knee over his lap underwater to straddle his thighs. Their cocks brush together fleetingly – Sylvain’s already half hard and Felix is quickly getting there.

Sylvain leans forward and dips his head down, smearing sloppy kisses beneath Felix’s ear. “Let me wash you,” he requests, feeling soft and sappy from the wine and their earlier victory. Felix whines a little against him, exerting a tiny bit of pressure to grind down against his cock. 

He swings an arm back blindly, fumbling for the basket of items he’d left near the edge of the pool to pull them towards him. The hot, searing kisses Felix is pressing to the column of his neck are only minorly distracting as he paws for a bar of soap.

While he’s busy lathering the cloth in soap and sweet-smelling oil, he watches Felix reach for the wine, taking a slow sip from the bottle. He hums contentedly, drifting back over to Sylvain. The expression on his face is sweetly disarming as he hands him the bottle. It reminds Sylvain of when they were younger, more innocent, sharing wine stolen from their father’s tables.

He reaches up to wipe the cloth, properly sudsed up, across Felix’s chest, scrubbing gentle circles into his collarbone. “You looked so beautiful today,” he says quietly, taking particular care around a shallow cut on his shoulder. Whenever they’re together like this, alone and sweetly tender, his brain defaults to singing him praise. Not that Felix seems to particularly mind, squirming as he is in his lap.

He feels heat radiating from Felix’s cheeks, hot and flushed where they touch his skin, as he leans in for a soft kiss. “I couldn’t stop watching you on the field,” he admits, a quiet whisper against Felix’s lips. Felix turns away, a shy smile on his face when he sips again. Sylvain watches him, hot and hungry and in love.

“You were so strong out there, darling, couldn’t keep my eyes off of you–”

This elicits a small, embarrassed whine from Felix as he puts the bottle down, moving close to bury his nose into his neck.

“You talk _ far _ too much,” he mutters, nibbling his way down the shell of his ear. Sylvain grins in response, feeling warm and sappy. He presses the washcloth across his skin, cleansing him of blood and dirt and grime. Inky hair tumbles around Felix’s shoulders when he snaps the hair tie out of it, combing wet fingers through tangled tresses.

“Mm.” Felix exhales sharply when he tugs on a snarl. Sylvain presses their lips together in a soft, wet, open-mouthed kiss; an unspoken apology. Felix’s fingers bruise where they curl into his skin, a sharp contrast to the gentle circles Sylvain is rubbing into his hips.

“Can I…?” he asks, as gentle as he’s ever been, twirling a finger through a wet strand of hair. Felix’s forehead falls to his shoulder, breath hot against his skin. He mumbles his assent, a hushed _ yes _, teeth scraping experimentally over the star-shaped scar on Sylvain’s shoulder.

He maneuvers Felix off of his lap so that he’s floating up to his chin, dark tresses fanned out behind him like some sort of dark, aquatic fae. He works to keep his hands gentle as he combs through his hair, lathering soap and oil, taking care not to tug or pull where he can help it.

Going through the motions is soothing. He lets his muscle memory take over as he scrubs and washes and rinses, finally picking up a comb and running it through clean, silky hair. He wrings it out over the water and dries it with a small towel before combing it through again. He hums as he works, fingers twisting over and under and over again to work it back into a single, long braid. Felix sighs, relaxing into his touch, and from his spot above his shoulder Sylvain can see him slowly growing hard beneath the water.

The shorter pieces framing his face escape, unruly, and the tip of it drags in the water, but it looks neat enough by the time he finishes. Moments after he finishes tying up the last hair band, Felix whirls around, all over him – pushing himself into his lap, straddling his thighs, running his hands down his stomach. They’re both undeniably hard by now, cocks brushing against each other. The barest hint of friction draws a moan from his throat, deep and guttural.

He reaches one hand down to palm himself underwater, but Felix’s hand is quicker, catching him and redirecting so he’s nibbling little kisses into his fingertips.

“Fe,” he breathes, uncaring of how pathetic his whine is. The tiny smile playing across Felix’s lips nearly unravels him right then and there.

“No touching. Not yet.” Felix’s voice comes out husky and deep where he whispers against his ear. He swears his skin lights on fire where they touch, his dick twinging pathetically against Felix’s.

“Babe,” he whines back between kisses, squirming beneath him. He pulls back briefly to take in the sight before him: Felix, his chest flushed and red, neck dotted with purpling bruises. His pale skin glows in the watery, dim light of the sauna, hair looking nearly black pulled back in its wet, slick braid. His eyes are positively glowing from where he looks down at Sylvain, perched in his lap, brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape, blush reaching the tips of his ears.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful, I could just eat you up–” 

Felix huffs a laugh, water ripping as he reaches a hand to push his unruly red hair back from his face. He leans down, slotting their cocks together again with a tilt of his hips. Sylvain can’t help the strangled moan that leaves his lips, desperate for more, more of his touch, more friction. 

Felix dives in for a kiss, sweetly gentle and completely at odds with what he whispers next.

“Let me fuck you.”

His dick springs to attention at his words, and he suddenly feels _ unbearably _hard as his imagination runs rampant. Felix looks inquisitive, fingers playing in his hair and smoothing over the nape of his neck. His heart jumps like a lovesick fool at how patient he is.

“Yes, _ yes, _ please,” he begs, bucking his hips up into Felix, unable to contain himself. Felix doesn’t make any motions to relieve him, instead curling his fingers into his hips to pin him down beneath him. Sylvain struggles against his hold, but holy _ fuck _ he’s strong, despite being smaller and leaner.

Felix’s fingers loosen when he steadies himself, moving down and across the cheek of his ass to press lazy circles into his skin. _ So _ close to his entrance, but not quite. His eyes glaze over and he lets his body fall back lax against the wall of the pool. “Yeah, Fe, yes,” he chants, feeling dazed but incredibly turned on at the reversal of roles happening.

He tips his head back to stare blankly at the tiled ceiling, water sloshing around them as Felix continues to knead into his ass. After a couple of minutes he’s still not even close to giving him the relief he desperately needs. 

He cries out as a lone finger finds and presses up against his entrance. The feeling is unfamiliar but not unwelcome – he’d be lying if he said he’s never imagined what it would be like for Felix to take control, to be bossy and demanding as he fucks him into the sheets. 

“Nggh, _ Felix_–“ he cries out, trembling as he strokes inside him. Despite being untouched his cock is unrelentingly hard against his stomach. The water is almost unbearably warm around them as Felix pushes his fingers in and out, only pulling away when Sylvain is positively keening against the edge of the pool. He feels feverish, worked up and nearly at his limit of how much he can take.

“Bed. _ Now,_” Felix’s voice has a dangerous edge to it, his eyes glinting hungrily as he stares down at him. 

His brain short-circuits, unable to come up with anything more clever than a meek nod as Felix pulls him out of the bath, toweling him off minimally before grabbing at his hands to drag him along after him.

Wine long forgotten by the edge of the pool, Felix tugs them along. They both drip a trail of water as they try all the doors along a quiet hallway until one of them falls open easily, left unlocked from when the castle was abandoned. 

Everything blurs together in a messy haze right up until the moment Felix is pushing him down on the bed, standing over him between his knees, naked and hard in all his glory. And that _ look_, for all that’s unholy, nearly undoes him completely – that coy, half-smile tugging at his lips, as if he’s struggling but not quite succeeding to fight down a grin. The glimmer of mirth in his eyes, absolutely ablaze in the flickering glow of the oil lamp. The shiny mass of hair, pouring over his shoulder like oil in that thick, messy braid.

Sylvain doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Felix hums, leaning down to suck a bruising kiss into his neck, thumb pressing into the tender skin of his inner thigh. He still hasn’t been touched, evident in the way his cock strains upwards, a small puddle of precum smeared across his stomach.

“Please, please,” he pants, nearly seeing stars as Felix pushes him down flush against the bed, climbing over him to straddle his thighs on either side of his hips, their cocks brushing together teasingly. “Need you, _ need_–”

Felix’s voice is warm as honey against his ear. “Be patient.” His breath hitches as warm fingers wander down, one hand pushing his knee up next to his ear, the other teasing against his hole again. He cries out weakly in response, unable to form anything remotely resembling a coherent sentence. The single brain cell he has left decides to resort back to begging. 

“Fe, baby, please–” 

This time Felix _ tsk_s against him, voice sharp as he swiftly slides a single digit into him. “ _ Patience_,” he teases into his neck, biting down on his earlobe, not nearly as gentle as before. The contrast makes Sylvain’s head spin, unable to keep up.

Another finger prods his entrance, tender yet firm. A cry rasps from his throat, eyes watering at the unfamiliar feeling. His hips buck up, searching, and he sobs pathetically when Felix’s hand moves from his knee to his stomach, pressing him flat into the bed, purposefully avoiding his raging hard-on.

“I’ll have to stop if you don't behave.” Felix’s voice slips dangerously low. Sylvain doesn’t know if he’s ever been in such sweet agony. He manages to still his wiggling hips, twisting his fingers into the covers til they’re white at the knuckles, struggling so badly to be good, to please Felix. His face feels vaguely wet, and it takes him a moment to connect his thoughts enough to realize a tear is sliding down his cheekbone, catching on the ridge of his ear. 

“I need– I need–“

Felix cuts off his begging with a _ shush_, looking like an absolute vision from where he’s perched over him.

“Gonna take care of you,” he soothes, marking fleeting kisses into the crease of his hip; into the soft dip between his ribs. 

“Gonna eat you out.”

Fuck, the way he just _ states _ these things, like they’re a given, with the single minded focus of a man possessed, is going to _ destroy _ him. Usually Sylvain is the talkative one in bed – lavishing Felix with praise and dirty talk, filthy descriptions of all the things he wants to do to him whispered against flushed skin. But the way Felix is now– demanding, needy, for him – has his head spinning. Sylvain nods, letting his legs fall wide open on the bed, hitching his knees up. The smile it elicits from Felix is _ everything_. 

“Good,” Felix mumbles. Sylvain’s blood heats with the praise. The way that word makes his dick twitch doesn’t go unnoticed from Felix, either. He smirks, pressing a chaste, teasing kiss to the tip of his cock. Heat shoots through him like lightning and his hands fly to either side of Felix’s face, weaving through his hair, desperately pulling his mouth back to him.

“Ah–“

“Be_have _ .” Felix adds a third finger, hot and slick and so _ firm _ in his ass. His breath washes hot over Sylvain’s dick, coming out in little pants. He whines in response, tossing his head back against the pillows, feeling strung out and breathless and so, _ so _fucking horny. 

“Fe,” he whimpers, twisting to make eye contact and almost regretting it when he does – Felix’s eyes are burning bright, glowing like molten copper up at him. 

“Look at you,” Felix muses quietly, pumping his fingers up to the knuckle inside of him. Sylvain wants to repeat the same thing back to him, to lavish him with praise and love until he’s blushing above him, but the pressure building in his lower stomach is making it difficult to think, let alone talk. 

“Fe,” he repeats dumbly, stroking a hand over Felix’s hair, biting his lower lip. He feels broken, feverish, needy. The stretch and slight pain of his asshole clenching around Felix’s fingers is so much, but he still rocks his hips backwards, wanting. 

Felix sinks beneath the sheets, mouth brushing past his cock as he travels down to his entrance. He feels suddenly empty, clenching down on nothing when Felix withdraws his fingers swiftly. 

And then Felix tongues around his hole, firm and slick, and he’s seeing stars, blissed out and crying weakly into the quiet air. His tongue rolls into him and finger joins alongside to tease his most sensitive spots. He vaguely registers that he’s got two handfuls of Felix’s hair, the braid he’d so lovingly worked into his hair earlier completely fucked. He cries out when Felix’s free hand comes up to tug loosely at his sorely neglected cock, toes curling into the sheets with pleasure. 

“Felix, Felix, _ Felix, Fe–“ _he chants as his tongue spears into him, fingers working to scissor him loose and open. He’s fairly sure he’s melted into the bed – it’s a serious miracle he hasn’t cum yet. Felix pulls back, teething a gentle bite into the sensitive skin of his thigh. 

“You ready for me, Syl? Gonna fuck you so hard–“ 

“Yeah, yes, _ p–please yes, _ fuck me– _ “ _

Felix slides off of him so quick he barely has a chance to whine at the loss of contact before he’s pushing at him, rearranging his knees and elbows, until his ass is tilted up in the air. He groans as Felix’s hands roam across his back, grabbing and tweaking his hair, spreading him apart.

His hands finally free, he twists one shoulder into the bed so that he can snake a hand down to finally relieve some of the pressure in his cock. Felix, as sharp-eyed as he is sharp-tongued, misses nothing and pulls his arm around to pin his wrist to the small of his back. 

“What did I tell you about no touching?” Felix’s voice sears like a sharp blade across his throat, dangerous and deadly. He cries out weakly in response, trembling beneath him. It takes an extraordinary amount of self control to relax his hand, to let his body go limp and loose in Felix’s grip. 

Being controlled like this is both a blessing and a curse. He’s never wanted anything more.

His body is hyper aware of every movement Felix makes behind him: spreading his cheeks apart, fingering spit into his hole, the heat of the front of his thighs against the backs of his. He twists his feet so that they’re hooked over Felix’s ankles, pinning him against his body, as close as he can manage. He rocks his hips back, desperate to feel full again, for Felix to fill him up completely. 

“Ready, babe?”

He gives a weak nod, head hanging down to the bed. Felix has succeeded in completely taking him apart, but now he’s so, so ready to get this show on the road.

Felix sinks into him, the pressure steady and unrelenting until he bottoms out. He’s not as good at taking it as Felix – there are tears streaming from his eyes as he struggles to adjust, desperately working to relax into the pain and pleasure. 

Sylvain loses all sense of coherency as Felix begins rocking into him, shallowly at first, but quickly thrusting deeper; more forcefully. He shudders as Felix’s hand comes down to land on his ass, the sound of skin hitting skin crisp and clean as it rings through the air. 

“Mine.” Felix whispers reverently across his shoulder blades, fingers bruising hard into the meat of his ass. 

He nods, helpless and wanting beneath him. “Yours.”

The sound of their skin against one another is sweet, the perfect melody to complement the little breathless pants Felix’s is letting out; the deep groans that escape his lips. He shifts his hips wider, thighs straining to hold himself up under Felix’s attentions. The sensation might be unfamiliar, but the feeling of Felix plunging deep into him is fucking _ divine_. 

“Darling, I’m– I’m not gonna last,” he manages to pant out, sinking his head into the bed so that his ass is high in the air, on display for Felix and Felix alone. 

“Mm, not yet,” Felix chides, wrapping an arm around him – partly to help support him as his stomach sinks into the bed, partly to thumb over the head of his cock, which is leaking copious amounts of precum. He sobs into the pillow, twisting his neck to look back at Felix – looking like a saint above him, the muscles of his stomach clenching every time he pumps into him. 

Felix lets go of his hip, leaving bruises and half-moon indents, reaching up to twist his fingers _ hard _ into his damp locks. His expression shifts minutely, and if Sylvain hadn’t grown up memorizing all the tiny nuances of his face, he might not have caught it – the faint glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes, the unspoken question on his lips: _ is this alright? _

Tears leak from his eyes, lashes clumping together wetly as he gives the tiniest nod, _ yes _, letting his neck go slack, leaning into the painful pleasure of Felix’s fingers pulling his hair. 

Felix’s hand closes in harder around his cock, stroking him in time to his thrusts. Sylvain knows he’s absolutely, positively not going to last much longer. Desperation takes over and he begins begging Felix with raw, frantic need. 

“Pl– pl_ease _, I need to– gonna–“ he slurs, keening against Felix’s hands on his dick, in his hair, his cock pumping deep into his ass, stroking that perfect spot inside him over and over–

“Come for me, Syl.”

It only takes two more well-timed thrusts until a long, loud cry leaves his lips, his orgasm wringing him from the inside out. Felix groans behind him, burying himself inside _ deep _ as his hips twitch into him, filling him up. It’s too much and not enough at once – Felix’s slender hand milking him through his orgasm, cum covering the sheets and his chest; the feeling of Felix dripping out of him when he weakly pulls out.

Awareness comes back slowly, the shapes around him blurring into focus. He’s facedown on the bed, having collapsed incoherently into his own mess. Felix is slumped beside him, boneless, long lashes fluttering against his cheek. 

He shifts onto his side, pushing his hair from his eyes as he gazes up at Felix. They’re both quiet, their breath slowly evening out to a steadier beat as they recover. He moves his hand up, painting little circles in his skin with his fingertips: trailing across his chest, the sharp curves of his collarbone, brushing over a distinct bite mark where his neck meets his shoulder. 

“Goddess, you were so perfect, Fe,” he finally breathes out, pushing himself up to lean over him, dipping down to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. 

“Shh. Stop talking.” Felix grouses back tiredly, but the blissed out smile is more than enough to let Sylvain know he doesn’t actually mean it. 

“I’m gonna need you to fuck me more often,” he muses, smoothing the fly aways back from his forehead. 

“Syl!” Felix squirms away, flinging his hand over his face, embarrassed and blushing despite having thoroughly and unashamedly fucked him into the mattress minutes earlier. Sylvain watches him fight to conceal the small smile on his face. He’s absolutely glowing – the sheen of sweat on his cheeks catch and sparkle in the flicker of the oil lamp, his eyes are half-lidded and sweet where they stare up at him. 

“I’m serious,” he continues, conversationally, twirling a stray lock of blue hair between his fingers. “If I knew you’d give as good as you can take–”

“Ugh! You’re ridiculous.” Felix whines back, crinkling his nose in mock-disgust as he shrinks into his neck, pressing feather-light kisses to his skin for a brief moment.

“Hey,” he pouts when Felix pulls away, crawling off the bed. He grabs after him, but even in their languid post-coital state Felix is quicker than he is. 

The look he gives him, naked and half turned in the moonlight – eyes dark and glinting, mischievous smile playing over his face as he tosses his braid over his shoulder – Sylvain swears the sight of him could bring a god to his knees. He knows he’s gaping after him, but he doesn’t bother to conceal the wonder in his eyes. He’s never been so completely, hopelessly, head over heels in love.

“Come on, bath.”

“Yeah, yeah, coming–” Felix cuts him off with a soft laugh as he scrambles out of bed, breathless and stumbling after him. An arm reaches for him, snaking around his waist as Felix pulls him to the door. Sylvain pauses, pausing to palm both hands over his ass and pull him close against him.

“Love you, Lix,” he breathes, lips tracing over the delicate curve of his ear.

Felix huffs a contented sigh into his shoulder.

“Love you too, Syl.”

He’s never heard a sweeter sound.


End file.
